


Keep Calm and Never Forget

by rook_fern



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: September 11 Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rook_fern/pseuds/rook_fern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on 9/11. May the lives lost never be forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been reading 9/11 fics lately and, even though the day is quite a few months away, I wanted to share this story.

**8:30 a.m.**

America skittered into the United Nations building, narrowly dodging a coffee-wielding woman and an angry pedestrian. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the elevator, mashing the button to his floor. Why were the stupid meetings always held so early in the morning? He always forgot about them!

**8:32 a.m.**

The dull throb in the back of his head didn't help, either. His usual perkiness was watered down as he burst through the doors, letting out his usual greeting of, "Everyone stay calm! The hero is here!"

"About time you showed up..." England muttered, one hand on France's face, pushing the nation away.

America flashed the grumpy nation a grin, not the brightest, however. "Yeah, sorry dudes. I had uh, errands."

**8:37 a.m.**

"Just sit down, America." Germany said seethingly, watching the young nation with icy blue eyes.

America swallowed a sigh at their inability to see past his mask---Not that he wanted them to. It would just be nice if someone respected him, though... He sat down beside Canada. His brother gave him a curious glance.

"Are you okay, Al?" His voice was as soft as always.

America grinned and gave him a thumbs up,  doing his best to smother the growing headache. "Yup! The hero's always great! "

**8:40 a.m.**

Germany's voice drowned on in the background as America tried to pay attention. His eyes would be focused and then slip a little, growing misty. He gave his head a barely noticeable shake and blinked. A sense of wrongness settled in the pit of his stomach.

He could see Canada flashing him worried glances, but he said nothing.

**8:43 a.m.**

His gaze drifted past the other countries, settling on the morning skyline of New York City visible through the windows.

**8:44 a.m.**

The headache spiked sharply, his eye twitching slightly. A low-flying plane appeared on the horizon. Muffled thoughts trailed listlessly through America's mind.

**8:45 a.m.**

The plane disappeared from sight. Something was wrong. Very, very, very wrong. Then he felt it hit. His mind snapped back to crystal clarity, allowing him to feel the immense pain he would have to endure.

It felt like a knife was being dragged across his chest, like one great slash in a giant X. He sucked in a sharp breath, his gloved hands clamping on to the table edge, making the wood splinter under his unnaturally strong grip.

He was sure the building they were in shuddered a bit. The conversations faltered but resumed quickly. No one else could hear the screams of people dying. Jumping to their deaths. Burning in metl-melting flames. Their breath turning to smoke as dust made up the air.

**8:51 a.m.**

America rose abruptly, releasing his hold on the crushed and splintered edge of the table. A few eyes turned to him in curiousity.

Forcing himself to take deliberate, calm steps, he turned and exited the room in utter silence, his shoulders stiff.

The only words he caught were the quiet ones Canada spoke. "He'll be back soon. Won't you, America? "

He didn't have an answer.

**8:54 a.m.**

His shirt was soaked in blood now. He was sure of it. He could feel it dripping down his skin as he walked put of the elevator and through the building's doors. His stiff fingers buttoned his bomber jacket. Just in case.

**9:03 a.m.**

The south tower was struck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter may get too gory for some people's liking.

America's heart jumped into his throat as another slash arched across his chest, completing the bloody X, invisible to the world.

His hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. His steps quickened until he was nearly running, pushing past people who were crying and screaming in dispair, pushing the other direction.

Smoke and debris rained down over them, making America's hair the color of ashy snow. It coated everything. His clothes. Skin. It flew through the air, making him cough. Blood soon joined the spittle he spat into his gloved hand.

**9:33 a.m.**

He could see the World Trade Center now. The view pained him even more than the cuts across his chest. Smoke was billowing from gaping holes, people dropping like rain as they jumped from broken windows.

"No... Stop! Don't jump!" No one on the streets even paused to give him a bewildered glance. They all shoved against him. Only a few were with him.

He was close. So close. Almost there...

**9:43 a.m.**

A new pain hit him, ripping a fresh gash across his forehead. The Pentagon...

Blood pooled from the wound and trailed into his eyes. He brushed it away, leaving a red streak up his sleeve. His body pulsed with agony, but he refused, no matter how much he wanted to, to lay down and curl up into a ball, giving into the torment,

His people needed him. His children needed him. He ended to be the hero. He  _was_ the hero.

His expression hardened, sweat making his cuts and gashes sting.

He lost it when he neared the site, however. The ground was covered in a layer of ash and ruble, giving it a snowy quality. Blood spattered debris hid mangled and twisted bodies. A few were moaning in pain, attracting the attention of a fireman or dutiful civilian.

Tears made him blink blindingly for a moment until he collected himself.

**10:05 a.m.**

The south tower made a low sound before collapsing, sending a massive cloud of choking air to anyone in the vicinity. More deaths rattled America. His legs buckled as fire met his veins, his wounds awash with a burning sensation.

he wrapped his arms around himself, a raw sob gripping him.

**10:10 a.m.**

It felt like a dart hit his heart. So close... His poor heroic people... The plane had just been crashed into a Pennsylvanian field. A sharp twinge on his forehead told him the Pentagon was still facing destruction.  And he could do  _nothing,_ frozen in torture.

**10:28 a.m.**

The dust didn't even have time to settle before the north tower collapsed. More fire. More burning. There was no ceasing to his agony.

He bent forward and released a ragged scream of pure anguish, but he wasn't sure he had made the horrific spund. It sounded distant and terrorized.

More screams. They continued until he could scream no more. His ears rung. He fell into quaking, silent sobs, tears making tracks down his grimy face.

A child's high-pitched wail brought him back to the present. He shakily looked up and spotted a little girl scrabbling through the rubble, screaming and wailing for her mother.

It spurred America into action. He got up, his limbs tembling. His first steps were shaky, but he started into a mad dash as the wall beside the girl began to tilt, crumbling.

He tackled her just as the structure failed, bringing darkness down on him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Desperate shrieks jolted America into consciousness. He first registered the extremely heavy weight across his back. Then the sting and throb of his wounds. And then the ashen girl tugging at his jacket, tears tumbling down her scraped cheeks.

"Don't go to sleep, Mister... Please don't go to sleep..." She whimpered, trembling terribly.

He dared to move, guessing a beam was thrust across his back,  his form making a small safe pocket for the child and himself. Slowly, he unclenched her fingers from his clothing.

"Hey, hey, it'll be alright. What's your name? It must be a brave one. You're very brave, y'know that, dudette? You must be a hero. Are you Wonder Woman?"

The girl blinked and scrubbed at her eyes, still shivering uncontrollably. "M-My name's K-Katlyn..." She mumbled.

America managed a tight smile, the conversation distracting him from the burning agony lancing his every fiber. "Are you a super hero, Katlyn?" He asked raspily.

Katlyn shook her head. "N-no... I--I just want M-mama... Mama p-promised she'd just be a minute..." Her wide, shell-shocked eyes met his. "She's gone, isn't she? Gone!" She broke into a wail,  tears making rivers down her cheeks.

America grimaced at the high sound and grasped her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  "H-hey, dudette. You wanna know a secret?"

The bawling ceased momentarily, a hint of curiousity glimmering in her gaze. She nodded numbly.

"I'm a super hero." America smiled as brightly as he could in the dim gloominess.

"R-really, Mister?"

"Yup. But you gotta keep it a secret, okay? No one else can know."

Katlyn nodded dutifully. "I--I promise. What's your super hero name?"

"Uh--um... I'm--I'm Captain... Captain America." He stammered out, the weight increasing on his back.

Katlyn's eyes widened further. "Do you really have a shield? Where's your suit?"

"I--I left them at home today. Silly me." His grin turned into a grimace,  pain striking him again. "Okay,  Katlyn. I need you to trust me. On the count of three, I need you to get underneath me. Okay?"

She nodded frantically and looked up at the groaning makeshift ceiling.

"Alright. One... Two... Three...!"

The frightened girl darted underneath him. He heave upwards at the same time, using every ounce of strength he owned to push the metal beam off of them. Sweat beaded on his forehead, a shallow, guttural scream tearing at his throat. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming in pants.

He blinked and peered through hazy eyes. He could see outside. He could see the smoky, smog-choked sky.

His pants turned into choppy, humorless laughs, some ounce of joy drained from his soul into his voice. "We're... We're alive..."

Katlyn blinked innocently yo at him. "Of course we are, Mister Captain America. You're a hero, aren't you?"

He looked down at her, his shoulders beginning to tremble beneath the strain.

"I am the hero." He mumbled before snagging her. The fallen wall crashed back down behind them, knocking him forward. He curled protectively around the girl until they tumbled to a halt.

"You... Promise... Not to... tell anyone... Right?" He flicked his gaze to the girl, releasing her. He laid eagle-spread on the debris-strewn ground.

Katlyn nodded. "Promise."

America smiled and looked up at the deep blue sky,  dirtier though it might be.

"America! America! America!" Distant voices called his name. He was too tired. He had been the hero.


	4. Chapter 4

"America!" The voice was insistent.  He opened his eyes with a groan. He was still on the same position, eagle spread on the ground, unable to muster the strength to move.

Katlyn, the brave little girl, stood beside him, hugging herself. She looked too shocked to do anything. Even cry.

Faces came into his veiew, the morning sun casting their shadows over him. England was in the front of the semicircle that surrounded him, his emerald eyes wide as he took in the wreckage behind them and the state of the battered country before them.

Canada knelt down beside him and pulled him slowly into a tight hug, his tears dripping on to America's skin.

"Hey... Mattie... Mattie, I'm alright."

Canada pulled back and wiped a hand across his nose. "Yeah. Sure you are."

America grimaced,  knowing his brother could se just how broken he was, even when the other countries couldn't. 

"Help---help me up, Mattie."

England had been watching the conversation silently. He shook his head at America. "You're bleeding, you idiot. Moving is not a good idea."

"Iggy..."

"Japan and Italy are finding help for you."

"I don't need help, dammit! Just get me up!"

England took a step back from the suddenly raging nation in surprise. The shattered look in America's eyes was replaced by a burning, fuming flame of revenge. He clasped America's outstretched hand and tugged him upright.

America gritted his teeth at the sudden movement, dried blood on his skin giving way to fresh redness. He swayed slightly and leaned against Canada and England for support.

"Katlyn..." He looked arpund, cursing himself that he had forgotten the child in his own anguish.

"The girl is okay, aru. " He spotted China beside Katlyn, the girl clinging to him, still shaking.

Relief coated America's pain, numbra it a bit. "Good..." His voice died when he saw the remains of the wrecked buildings. How many innocent civilians had died? How many firemen and policemen? Mothers? Fathers? Children? How many happy families had this act destroyed?

He began to tremnle, his hands curling into fists.

"America...?" England's hand was on his shoulder.

He bowed his head but refused to look away from the carnage. Tears stung his eyes, washing his face free of grime. "Whoever did this, I swear, they will pay." His voice shook with anger and pain, quiet yet loud enough to be heard by the gathered countries.

"I'm sorry, America..." Much to the younger man's surprise England wrapped him in an embrace,  soon to be joined by Canada. France joined the hug as well, the usually flamboyant nation quiet and teary. Then China. Russia embraced him too, his childish expression sobered. Japan and Italy returned with Germany. Italy began blubbering and wormed his way to the heart of the group huge wrapping himyself around America's waist.

A gentle murmur of, "I'm sorry," 's rained on him softly, allowing him to feel the mental pain instead of just the physical pain.  He cried quietly, knowing he was safe, if only for the time being.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Present Day** _

America paced around the Oval Office, whistling boredly as he awaited the President. He tinkered with the things on the desk and looked at the paintings on the wall for the umpteenth time.

Voices sounded beyond the door, muffled, but he could make out a woman's voice, as well as the President's. 

The door cracked open and the President stepped insidr, followed by a young woman bent over her notes.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President sir, but you don't really expect me to believe that the nation is actually a person. That's crazier than believing super heroes are real..." She looked up and her voice died catching site of America. 

He grinned widely. The President cleared his throat. "America, I'd like you to meet Ms. Smith, our new Head of Security."

"Howdy, Ms. Smith." He offered a hand to shake. "I'm the Un--"

Ms. Smith was looking at him incredulously. "Captain America..." She said after swallowing dryly.

America's hand wavered at the tone of her voice, the smile slipping from his face. "What?"

"Is it--it can't be you..." She held her notes tightly.

Something clicked in the back of America's mind, realization flooding him. "Katlyn..." He murmured.

A tentative silence crossed Katlyn Smith's face. "I never did tell anyone, Sir."

America's grin returned, though hinted with sadness. "Fate is funny, huh? It's been fourteen years and yet we still end up running into each other again."

The woman before him suddenly looked like a frightened little girl once more. "You were my hero, Sir." She said lowly.

"Hm?"

She smiled faintly.  "You inspired me to help others. You inspired me to get this job."

"Your mama would be proud." America stated, making tears appear in Katlyn's eyes. "Don't cry. The hero's gotta be strong. Heroes are always strong." He hugged the young woman.

"I'm not the hero. You're the hero, Sir." She whispered, her voice muffled by the collar of his bomber jacket.

"Katlyn, you wanna know another secret?" He asked quietly, pulling away a little to look her in the eye.

She nodded, wiping a hand over her face. "Yes--yes, Sir."

"You gotta keep it a secret though. You promise?"

She nodded, smiling with watery eyes. "Promise."

"You're my hero." He told her, giving her another hug.

* * *

 

_Yeah, memories could hurt, but they made the present that much sweeter._


End file.
